III
Priveghi
Chapter One

path, huddled amongst a crown of mountain peaks and ridges, though most confounding of all, on looking to her left, she saw Heiðrún sat cross-legged reading her book.

          The child approached cautiously, hair flapping against the wind as she walked along the path towards her companion.

          Heiðrún was sat with her back against a boulder. ‘Good,’ she said, once the child had reached her.

          ‘What is?’ said the child.

          ‘You did very well. Good.’

          ‘Good?’

          Heiðrún remained still.

          ‘You left me,’ insisted the child. ‘You left me behind?’

          Heiðrún was staring up at her. She held her hands in her lap, face soft, hair a warm orange. She looked pleased to see her, the child could tell that much, but still, none of it made any sense. Heiðrún tapped her fingers, nodding awkwardly.

          ‘You left me,’ repeated the child. She stared hard, willing Heiðrún to speak, to explain herself. ‘You abandoned me. You left me to that —'

          ‘I didn’t abandon you,’ said Heiðrún. ‘That was Ahnah, a true qalupalik. Adlartok remains both their first and last home. The true qalupaliks of Adlartok are an archaic race.’

          The child snorted.

          ‘They are kind creatures, really, they hold close families. The pouch upon her back is called an armualtlk. They carry their children inside of these for the first five years of their life. You were safe.’

          ‘And how do you know it was Ahnah?’

          ‘It was Ahnah, I am sure of that.’

          The child sat down beside Heiðrún and scratched her neck. Suffering these excuses felt worse even than being left alone. ‘If you want to travel with me, Heiðrún, you can’t just leave. I don’t care if you know the way, I’ll get there by myself.’

          ‘Yes, Benedicta,’ said Heiðrún, ‘I’m sorry, I truly am,’ and as she spoke the last of these words, her voice wavered. ‘… I’m sorry, Ben.’

          The child’s eyes widened. ‘Benedicta?’ she repeated, trying out the word, and Heiðrún flickered in response.

          Feeling suddenly dizzy, Benedicta pressed her back against the chill of the rock. Sat as she was upon the cold earth, it felt as if the mountainside was looming over her, and she clutched at her stomach to steady the sensation. She’d not been expecting such sincerity, she certainly hadn’t expected such a revelation.

          ‘I’ll help you, Ben. Teach you, but I won’t lead you. It was important that you alone entered the water. Your actions, your decisions, they belong to you.’

          ‘No. You said Benedicta. You called me Ben.’

          ‘That’s your name, you should be proud of it.’

          Benedicta stammered. ‘My name? My name is Benedicta.’ She spoke as much to herself as to Heiðrún. ‘Benedicta … Ástadóttir? I remember now. Benedicta Ástadóttir. How do I know that?’

          ‘You’ve…’ Heiðrún’s tongue faltered. ‘You’ve taken a brave step, Ben.’

          Benedicta disliked the pause.

          ‘I left you on that island,’ said Heiðrún, ‘because your life, it is yours alone. You’re the one that must live it. I will not carry you. But—'

          ‘What about my name?’

          ‘But… I will never leave you. I will never abandon you, Ben. I promise. You’ve chosen to follow me, and so I will be there.’

          The tone of her words held such conviction that Benedicta did not doubt them, not for a second. ‘So, you will help me?’ A lump swelled in her throat. ‘You’ll show me the way home?’

          ‘That’s right,’ and as Heiðrún spoke, her hair flushed yellow, before settling a brilliant white. ‘I will help you reach your home.’

          Those words hit Benedicta hard. ‘But why?’ She hugged her knees to her chest, ingesting the possibilities. This was everything she could have wished for. ‘Why would you help me?’

          The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, its light filling the sky. As if a vacuum, she felt the air withdrawing, time grinding to a halt, a vast silence. She had so many questions that her head throbbed upon her shoulders. It felt as if a great chasm was stretching between them. She pressed her hands to her eyes. This was her chance for truth, and yet she feared such hope, she wanted to clasp it with all her might, but instinctively she knew she mustn’t, with Heiðrún she must be gentle, somehow, she must be patient.

          ‘…a good question,’ said Heiðrún, and reaching over, she lifted Benedicta’s chin.

          Her hands were unnaturally hot, but that was the least of Benedicta’s concerns. Heiðrún was leaning forwards, her mouth almost as if to kiss Benedicta’s brow. Benedicta froze. Up close, the roots of Heiðrún’s hair rolled with colour, they dulled a smoky white, flushed purple, dulled white again — but there was no further contact, and in a moment, Heiðrún had rotated away.

          ‘What’s that?’ Benedicta pointed, gesturing at Heiðrún’s book. It was all she could bring herself to say.

          ‘That’s my book, like a diary, I suppose,’ she replied, lowering her eyes. ‘It’s been with me since birth.’

          ‘The pictures?’ said Benedicta.

          Heiðrún lifted a stick from the ground. ‘The pictures were drawn, words written.’

          She passed the stick to Benedicta, pointing at the earth. Benedicta hesitated, but quickly understood, and widening her legs, she used the stick to mark a line between her feet. Heiðrún smiled as Benedicta went on to sketch out a small figure.

          ‘I’ll make a book,’ said Benedicta, looking up at Heiðrún. ‘One day, maybe?’ and that was when she truly felt it, as if her skin had split open and all of her blood begun draining out, a desperate loneliness.

          ‘What’s wrong?’ Heiðrún asked.

          Benedicta frowned. ‘Just tell me what’s going on. I remembered my name, but nothing else, nothing from before.’ 

          Heiðrún’s hair throbbed a deep shade of purple. Benedicta couldn’t help but stare. It was such strange hair, her jaw also, peculiar, pronounced. And then there were her dirty toes, each one peeking out from beneath the frayed hem of a long dark skirt. Overlaying the skirt, a strange robe enveloped her body. Formed from many individual strips of coarse brown cloth, the robe entwined her waist, her core, her shoulders, hung loose about her neck. The material finished at last in a heavy hood.

          ‘Well,’ said Heiðrún, standing up and backing away, ‘from what is written here… your arms? Yes. Your legs? Yes. Your eyes? Yes. And your hair? And your nose? Yes. Yes, from what is written here, it seems most likely you are a human child.

          Benedicta wasn’t sure. ‘Like you?’

          ‘Not like me, no, not until you have grown. For now, you remain a human child, and therefore… you most probably originated from a planet called Earth.’

          Benedicta bristled, reaching for Heiðrún’s book which lay on the floor beside her. Heiðrún snatched it up with such speed that Benedicta recoiled in shock.

          ‘That’s all it says about that,’ Heiðrún finished, ‘I should know, I wrote it.’

          ‘Really?’ said Benedicta. ‘That’s all?’

          ‘From the book, yes.’ Heiðrún shuffled on the spot. ‘However, what I can tell you, is that this realm is called The Cosmos realm. There are many universes within this realm. Within each of those universes there exists many galaxies, and within each galaxy many solar systems. These solar systems are themselves made up of many planets. Not all planets support life, but you would be surprised at the amount that do. In fact, we are sat on one at the moment.’

          Benedicta puffed her cheeks, sceptical in the face of so many words, such enormity.

          Heiðrún continued regardless. ‘It is possible to move throughout The Cosmos, from planet to planet, by first finding, and then by falling through a tunnel. We call these tunnels the Hjórdœla.’

          ‘And, how far is Earth?’ asked Benedicta.

          ‘Each planet,’ said Heiðrún, ‘has only one Hjórdœla, which leads to only one other planet. It is written that all knowledge of the existence of the Hjórdœla is held in grave secrecy.’

          ‘Secret?’ Benedicta’s eyes widened, eyebrows lifting, ‘then why are you telling me? Who else—'

          ‘Because I can help you, Ben. The Hjórdœla. These tunnels will get you home.’

          ‘So, you can actually take me home? Back to Earth?’

          ‘Yes,’ said Heiðrún, ‘with the help of Ahnah, you have already passed through one tunnel. Three more Hjórdœla, and we will reach Earth. Now come.’

          A sudden weariness obscured Benedicta’s face.

          ‘Follow me,’ Heiðrún encouraged, ‘all will become clear in time,’ and taking Benedicta’s hands, she pulled her to her feet. ‘Trust me,’ she said, and maintaining her grasp on Benedicta’s right hand, she began running away from the waterfall, down a windy mountain path.

          Benedicta pulled backwards, reluctant to affirm any trust, but such was Heiðrún’s grip, she had no choice.

          ‘Benedicta Ástadóttir,’ whispered Benedicta, her legs racing to keep up. ‘Benedicta Ástadóttir, from Earth,’ she chanted. 'Three Hjórdœla. Only Three.'

          She had a name and a purpose. She was going home.

          ‘Come,’ urged Heiðrún, ‘and remember, knowledge of the Hjórdœla is to be kept secret. You must never tell.’

          Benedicta nodded, heart pounding as they raced down the mountainside.